Stain

by A. G. Howard

  “So, it worked.” Lustacia pressed her to continue, bringing Griselda’s thoughts back to the tower chamber. “He has doubt enough in this witch’s girl to need proof from her as much as me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why do you seem so rattled?”

  Griselda clenched the empty bag in her hands and her mouth closed against the answer: because it didn’t feel as if it worked.

  The prince hadn’t been surprised by her surprise tactic. It was if he’d expected her to pull out the box and slide it across the table to the sorceress. As if that very action played into his desires. Perhaps he’d truly gone mad after being locked within that death sleep.

  Griselda thumped her fingers on the bag. “I’m not rattled. I’m simply . . . deliberating.”

  “Deliberating what?”

  “How best to tell you the outcome of the meeting.”

  Lustacia waited, chewing on the end of her messy braid.

  “The prince made the observation that the prophecy had some problematic details concerning appearances. That the only true measure of his princess was for her fortitude to be a match for his own. She must have the courage and grit to conquer his world.”

  Lustacia spat the hair from her mouth. “That’s ridiculous! How can anyone possibly prove something like that?”

  “It is tradition here, that all the royal children, and those of the military, grow up learning how to face the hardships of this realm. They’re taught at a young age to withstand the sting of thorns, brambles, and scorpions by laying upon beds of nails in the dungeon.”

  “What?” Lustacia yelped. “You mean I’m to face a torture device? I bruise if I sleep upon a feather mattress!”

  Griselda held up a hand to calm her. “There’s one thing more . . . to be his ‘equal,’ his princess must prove she can relate to and befriend the creatures inherent to this world, those that occupy every corner of this castle. So, the cell will also be filled with vermin.” Her own skin crawled at the thought.

  “Oh no. No, no, no. Mother! All these years we’ve lived among pet birds who protected us from such atrocities! I’ve never had dealings with . . . infestation.” She shuddered visibly.

  “Take your half-lights as your shadow guards; once you’re alone within the cell, have them protect you as the birds would. Perhaps they can even provide some cushion for you upon the nails.”

  Lustacia glanced across her shoulder at the smoky smears still fighting over the remnants of her meal. “How much more will I have to endure to prove myself? I’m so tired. I’m not even sure I want to be queen any longer.”

  Griselda lunged forward—fingers gouging into her daughter’s tender shoulders. “Never say that again,” she seethed through gritted teeth over Lustacia’s whimpers. “You think you’ve endured adversity? I’ve given up everything for this! All so you could sit upon a throne that should’ve been mine from the beginning!”

  The goblin apparitions swooped down, shoving Griselda against the back of her chair to protect their mistress. They ripped through her hair, pulling it out of its pins and exposing bits of antler.

  Lustacia rubbed her shoulder. “Shall I call them off, Mother? Or should I tell them you’re to be dessert?”

  Griselda smoothed her tangled strands, patting them back into place against the gusts. “Perhaps you should remember that without my ingenuity, you wouldn’t even have your guards. I’ve done nothing but empower you and your romantic aspirations since the moment you fell for your cousin’s betrothed.”

  Lustacia bit her lip at that. She sent her goblins to straighten the mess they’d made on the table. One dipped across the surface to absorb wet smears like a sponge might do, while the others scooped piles of crumbs onto the plate.

  Griselda nodded her approval. “We can’t turn against one another now. We’re so very close. The prince amended the blood oath with his own blood. The new contract reads that whoever passes this test will be his bride, and the other will be imprisoned—her fate to be decided by the new queen after the coronation. All you have to do is abide through the cessation course, or outlast your opponent without begging to be let out, whichever comes first. A few hours, and you’ll win him and the crown, at last.”

  Lustacia worked her shoulder seam down, revealing where bruises had already marked her moonlit skin in the shape of her mother’s fingers. “What happens if we both endure? It’s said this girl has scars and scrapes to spare. She’s of the wilderness, and obviously more inured to physical hardship than me.”

  “It’s been decreed by Queen Nova and Prince Vesper that should you both withstand the night, the girl possessing the most physical attributes specified by the prophecy will be proclaimed King Kiran’s heir and will marry the prince immediately. Your rival has only the skin and hair. You, however, have something the imposter can never emulate. The true princess’s birdsong voice. Which means it is impossible for you to lose.”

  “Still . . .” Lustacia stood and began to pace. “Shouldn’t we discuss our alternate plan? You always have one.”

  Griselda patted a pocket in her gown, her fingers tracing the small, round outline hidden within the fabric’s folds. Yes, there was a plan; one she’d already put in motion. A last resort she hoped wouldn’t be necessary. “We throw ourselves upon the dais, at the feet of the thrones and at the mercy of the courts.”

  “Have you gone mad? What sort of a plan is that? Neither kingdom will have mercy! Everyone wants the skies united and we’ve disrupted it.”

  Griselda shrugged. “Yes. We will be blamed not only for Lyra’s death, but for killing the prophecy.”

  Tears gathered in Lustacia’s eyes again. “So, you’re fresh out of ideas and tricks. Then . . . we’ll run away.”

  “In case you failed to notice, the prince has us under constant guard. He’s even having your sisters watched now.”

  “But we could use my shadows; they could at least get us through the gate.”

  “It’s a blizzard outside. The thorns have already risen up and the night beasts are on the prowl. You saw the cadaver brambles and rime scorpions for yourself, how they attacked Lyra’s body in that coffin. Do you honestly think your sisters . . . or you and I . . . have what it takes to survive this wasteland for more than an hour? Where would we go, even then? We have antlers sprouting from our heads! We’ll never be safe unless you’re protected by the prince himself.”

  Lustacia sank to the floor, her face drained of color. Her shadowy defenders left off cleaning and returned to hover around her, lifting and dropping her braid, as if to comfort.

  Griselda walked toward the adjoining chamber to splash cold water upon her face and contemplate the turning of events. She paused at the threshold. “Either find the courage to win the test, or find the courage to face the wrath of two kingdoms spurned. I leave the choice to you.” She shut the door between them.

  Every castle has its obscure passages. Within Nerezeth’s obsidian fortress, most were accessible and used by everyone at court—servants, military personnel, and council members included.

  However, there was one passage that was known only to Madame Dyadia and the royal family. It was a steep, secret stairway that led directly from a hidden alchemy lab beneath the dungeon to the throne room five flights above. As Lachrymosa’s own addition centuries earlier, it had enabled his mother to bring him reports and commissions expediently from the king. Otherwise, she had to take four winding flights of stairs to the dungeon, a long trek past an abundance of cells, then gain access to a magical entrance through an impermeable wall to take another flight of stairs that eventually opened to her son’s lab.

  Lachrymosa’s passageway cut the transit by at least ten minutes, and also had the added benefit of providing a back way into the dungeons from the lab without being seen by anyone milling through the common areas. This proved particularly helpful now, as the success of the princess test relied solely upon getting Lyra into a cell without being seen. And since so many spectators already lined the
corridors, halls, and antechambers—to await that blink of dawn signaling the beginning of the cessation course and said test—any other route would’ve been unsuitable.

  Lyra—dressed in tunic and trousers, hair tucked beneath a scarf—took the hidden passageway with Vesper a half hour before the test was to begin. Cyprian followed a few steps behind, having been appointed as Lyra’s temporary chaperone by a grumbling Luce—the sylph being engaged in a clandestine meeting with Madame Dyadia elsewhere in the castle, and Selena being equally unavailable. With her own role to play in the grand deception, the prince’s sister had remained within Lyra’s tower chamber to await the guards who would be coming to escort the potential princess alongside her rival in a procession down the twelve flights from the towers to the dungeon.

  In the meantime, Lyra, Vesper, and Cyprian passed through the secret alchemy lab and were on their way up the stairs leading to the magical entrance that would land them directly within the dungeon’s corridors. As they walked by wall sconces lighting the darkness for Vesper’s eyes, Lyra tried to get the image of the lab out of her head. The dusty and mildewed space, filled with rubble and debris, presented a sad tribute to the splendor that it once must have held, hundreds of years earlier beneath the hands of a masterful mage. Though Nerezeth’s historical scrolls didn’t offer specific details, Vesper had shared that the damage was done when the earth opened to swallow Nerezeth, killing Lachrymosa and indenturing Vesper’s people to a life of eternal night and ice.

  The ruins had reminded Lyra of her walk along the Crystal Lake, the first and only time she’d viewed her kingdom up close: strangled by monstrous vines and vicious flowers. How she hoped the moonlight would grace Eldoria’s skies again, wither the honeysuckle plague, and return the castle to the glittering ivory beacon it once was. She wanted nothing more than to see the people outside—playing, working, living. Just as she hoped the sun would cure the sickness in Nerezeth so Vesper’s people could live again.

  She and Vesper had spoken at length after the convocation—over a late dinner shared with Selena, Luce, and Cyprian, who took a hidden passage to her tower chamber—about their concerns for their kingdoms and their people. They both worried as to how any union—no matter its sacred basis—could realign their skies. But as everyone had so much to lose if the magic failed, Vesper and Lyra agreed to simply love one another, trust one another, and have faith enough to aid the prophecy where they could.

  Which brought them to where they were now.

  Reaching the impassable wall, Vesper manipulated a row of stones, using a code Madame Dyadia had given him. The barrier opened to the dungeon and the three stepped within.

  Lyra’s nerves evolved to nausea, and she regretted eating that helping of plums in rosewater. The roasted boar should’ve been enough. It had just been so nice to have warm food served at a table in the company of people she could converse and tease with, she’d forgotten to consult her stomach until it was filled to the brim.

  After passing fifteen cells, Vesper stopped.

  Cyprian took a step back. “Not to pull rank, Majesty, but do keep it short, and not too sweet,” he requested. “I don’t wish to get on the bad side of a sylph who can sense my every desire and turn it into an irresistible force.”

  “For the sake of my sister’s honor, I’ll concede this once.” Vesper smirked.

  Cyprian grinned back. “You know, such a skill could be formidable in military strategies. Perhaps one day in the future, our queen might use her persuasion with her guardian . . . convince him to stay on as a magical resource?”

  Lyra quirked an eyebrow. I’ll consider it, she signed, if you’ll turn your back and give us the illusion of privacy. You can’t be blamed for what you don’t see, after all.

  Cyprian laughed then faced the opposing wall.

  “Well played,” Vesper teased Lyra. “Never thought I’d reap the benefits of civic diplomacy honed in the dark market.”

  She shrugged. As I recall, you thought my bargaining lessons a waste of time.

  “Hmmm. It would appear I owe Luce a thank-you for that, too.” He cocked his head in thought. “Let’s not tell him.”

  She smiled as he searched under his royal robes to fish a set of tarnished keys from the fur-trimmed tunic beneath. They jingled on their loop as he unlocked the large wooden door.

  “This is the one,” he said. The hinges creaked open at his touch. The sconces from the corridor intruded on the space with flickering orange strokes, revealing everything he had prepared her to see.

  Lyra’s smile faded as she stood at the threshold, taking it in: the stench of must and stale body odor, the flutter of moths sweeping back and forth, black mice scampering about among hundreds of glowing spiders scuttling across the floor. Others dangled from the ceiling on silken webs. They looked like stars, juxtaposed against the dingy gray stones, and the beauty of those luminescent constellations almost coaxed her to step inside, until her attention caught on the torture device against the wall. It was opened, displaying the metal spikes lining both the lid and the bed. Just as Vesper described, it resembled a coffin.

  She hardened her chin to keep it from trembling.

  “I’m sorry . . . I know it reminds you of your arrival to the ravine.”

  She shook her head. There’s no memory. Only a foreboding dread. A knowing that I shouldn’t know. If I could grasp it, I could put it to rest.

  His eyebrows knitted and he took her hand, bringing her close enough to press her knuckles to his soft lips. “Those memories will be yours soon,” he said, his warm breath scented with winterberry wine from dinner. “Dyadia has Crony’s ensorcelled box now. And once you win your crown—”

  It will open. Lyra finished his sentence and caressed his face with her free hand, grateful for the reminder. Luce was still being obscure about Crony’s whereabouts, but at least he’d shared some of the details of the note she’d left him.

  Vesper kissed Lyra’s wrist. His lips lingered there, at the edge of her sleeve’s cuff, leaving no question that he wanted to continue—past her forearm to the bend of her elbow, along her shoulder and to her neck.

  He lifted his face, eyes ablaze with a new light. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask, he said in their mind-speak. All along, it’s been assumed, but that’s not fair to you. So here, with no one listening—his gaze flicked to Cyprian’s back—or watching, I want to do this right, just between us. He swallowed hard. Lady Lyra, will you marry me and be my queen for life? Rule by my side in both day and night?

  Lyra studied his beautiful, somber features, awed by the sweetness of the gesture. In the eyes of the world, they were betrothed already, but for him to ask . . . to give her the choice . . . and not as a prince and princess, but as a boy and girl whose friendship had blossomed into something lovelier still, it restored some of the control she’d lost, which is exactly what she needed in this moment. To feel strong. Confident. Whole, and hopeful.

  I will, she answered without hesitation, stroking his cheek.

  Thank the stars and moon! He turned his mouth to her palm and kissed her there. Then he pulled her close. Once you’re mine, I’ll pay homage to each scar on your body ever made on my behalf. Including any you may acquire tonight.

  Cyprian cleared his throat. “I can’t see you, but I know what that silence means. To borrow Luce’s insight earlier at dinner: Pillow talk, be it aloud or in the head, is inappropriate for anywhere but the couple’s wedding bed.”

  Lyra and Vesper shared a grin.

  Releasing a breath, she faced the doorway again, muscles tensed and coiled.

  “You can do this, Lyra,” Vesper urged. “You’re the most courageous girl I’ve ever known. And a Pegasus has the highest of standards.”

  Lyra leveled an amused glance at him, welcoming any distraction.

  The sudden roar of shouts and cheers burst through the upper levels, indicating the procession had begun.

  “It’s now, or not at all,” Vesper said.

&nbs
p; Right. She allowed him to hold her balanced by an elbow as she worked off her slippers, one by one. So I won’t break the spiders’ fragile legs, she explained.

  Vesper nodded. As Scorch, he had been there when Mistress Umbra predicted Lyra’s final trial to find herself—to walk through stars and wrap herself in spikes. This wasn’t a surprise to either of them. But only in this moment did it finally make sense.

  She handed her slippers to Vesper for him to hide, then took one last look at him. That flame still glowed behind his dark eyes, and had warmed to pride.

  Lifting to her toes, she hugged him. He held her close, nuzzling the place where the scarf met her neck, before breaking free and nudging her across the threshold. The door shut with a muffled thud behind her—a sound that echoed like a lonely sigh.

  Yet she wasn’t alone. The mice squeaked all around her, gray as the stones. Her eyes lit to amplify the soft light emanating from the spidery constellations. Shadows rose from the corners. She’d seen them following on the way here, but they’d kept to themselves, as if they’d known to wait for this moment when she’d need them most.

  Empowered by their presence, she shuffled forward so as not to crush any night creatures, her bare feet cold upon the gritty stone. The moths drifted gracefully toward the nail bed, as if to lead the way.

  The cheers grew louder down the corridor. They were almost outside the cell. A sense of urgency rushed Lyra the last few steps—close enough to lay her palm across the nails. Her heart quailed, anticipating punctures all over her body. Vesper had advised her about pressure points and positioning for the least damage. She rolled herself onto the spikes and tried to remain still. The points jutted against her, but nothing pierced through . . . yet.

  She shut her eyes, but couldn’t pull the lid down, couldn’t seal herself within. Dread held her immobile, so she asked her shadows to do it instead. They obeyed, sandwiching her between the nails.

  There was no time to panic, for the doors were already opening in the cells.

  Vesper had chosen this room specifically. There were holes drilled in the walls to allow sound to filter through. It was a tactic for interrogation: locking up two or more criminals together, then guards hiding in the opposing cells on either side, waiting for the criminals to think they were alone and talk.